


Secret Admirer

by thucydides_groupie



Series: That Night [2]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Might become more AU as the story progresses, Wet Dream, mature themes, slightly AU, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29956143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thucydides_groupie/pseuds/thucydides_groupie
Summary: In which Caleb Brewster falls a little in love with a married woman, and he begins to fall more in love with her every day.This is the continuation of my oneshot "That Night".
Relationships: Caleb Brewster/Mary Woodhull
Series: That Night [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203164
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	1. Interlude

That night. For the past couple of weeks, Caleb Brewster couldn’t help but think back to that night. In the weeks, Caleb had made contact with Abe once again. Abe explained that he and his family were safe, but it appeared they would need to delay their departure from Setauket indefinitely. It was too risky with Simcoe nearby.

Caleb hadn’t told anyone about what Mary had done. In many ways, he wanted to brag. Wanted to tell Ben and Abe about how bold Mrs. Woodhull had been. But, at the same time, he wanted to be selfish with his knowledge. He wanted it to be a secret that only _they_ shared; he and Mary. But he knew he was foolish to think that way. He was certain Mary had already told Abe what had happened. They were married, after all.

Never in a million years would Caleb have bet that Mary would get so close. She had nearly _killed_ Simcoe. She had gotten closer than any of them. And for that, he felt pride. He felt a sense of admiration for the woman. He was certain that was why he was still thinking about her, even now. In fact, he was thinking about all the times the Missus had been brought up in conversation.

He remembered when Abe met him at the dead drop and told him about the farmhouse. How it had all been Mary’s idea; to burn the property and the unfortunate Ensign Baker along with it. Caleb hadn’t believed his friend at first. It all seemed too strange; too unexpected. That the frightened woman he had seen in Strong Tavern; the frightened mother; would concoct a scheme such as that. But no matter how much he didn’t want to believe it, it was true. Even after Abe told him the news, and even after he passed along the information to Ben, Caleb still had a hard time believing it. So, he pushed it from his mind. Hadn’t thought of the subject in a long time. Until that night.

After diverting the Rangers, and after returning to his boat, that detail was one of the only things Caleb could think of as he rowed across the Sound. Suddenly, the farmhouse incident wasn’t so hard to believe. He realized he had judged her unfairly. He knew when credit was due, and she deserved it.

Abe had described her as patient and modest. A woman who avoided confrontation, preferring methods of appeasement instead. Yet, when it came down to it, Mary had proven herself to be just as capable as any of them.


	2. The Rising Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No pun intended...

That night. That’s when the dreams began. Caleb Brewster would not describe himself as a promiscuous man. At the same time, he knew he was not a modest man either; he wasn’t like Ben. Caleb had been with plenty of women before. He loved women. So, of course, he couldn’t stop himself from having dreams about women.

They were never chaste dreams. They were the type of dreams where he would wake up feeling warm and desperate. They were the type of dreams where he would awaken and instantly his hands would be fumbling with the buttons of his breeches, and he would shamelessly try to remember the images until he was satisfied.

That particular night, he had one of those dreams. It was unclear what room they were in, but those sorts of details were always foggy. It didn’t matter what the room looked like, because he could see the woman’s body clearly. She was fully nude and straddling his torso. He remembered his eyes darting everywhere at once. To look at her small breasts, as they bounced slightly as she moved on top of him. He could still remember the pink tint to her nipples. How he wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush his thumbs over them. His eyes fell to look at her thin waist and her toned stomach. Her body seemed to be glistening; she was covered in a thin sheen sweat from the exertion. His gaze finally came to the lowest part of her torso, and he looked at the auburn hair that covered the place between her thighs.

Even in his sleep, he was aware of the quickened pace of his heartbeat. Of a heaviness that felt like it was weighing on his body. That began in his groin and spread throughout his abdomen all the way to his throat so that it felt like he could lose his voice at any time.

He knew what she would feel like if she was real; if he could reach out and touch her. He could imagine what it would be like to have her wrapped around him. Her warm breath on his skin when she leaned in for a kiss, her nails digging into his skin, the damp heat from where she was grinding against him. He wanted to feel her around him, to talk to her, to make her laugh before they both became absolutely entwined with one another. Before their voices were breathy and their panting filled the room. Before he had a chance to pull her closer and hear her mewling, her moans in his ear, as she opened herself fully to him and let the both of them get lost in the sensation of everything, he realized something wasn't right.

This dream was different. And that’s when the images began to melt away, and his eyes snapped open.

It was the middle of the night. He was back at camp, in his tent, staring up at the dark canvas ceiling above him. He could hear the light snoring of the other soldier across the tent; his tentmate. During the course of his dream, Caleb had broken out into a cold sweat. He kept his breathing quiet, but his chest was heaving. The tightness of his breeches was almost unbearable, but, in that moment, he no longer wanted relief. He was no longer comfortable, because that dream had been different in a way he hadn’t expected.

He closed his eyes, trying to forget, to get back to sleep. But he was fully awake now. His mind was racing. Images of what transpired in his dream flashed beneath his eyelids. No matter what he tried to think of, his mind kept going back to the woman. It had been so vivid. And he could feet a lump rising in his throat. It was joined by the feeling of guilt.

After several minutes of this, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slid out of his cot and padded over to the small basin of water that sat atop the shared dresser. He reached into the bowl and splashed water on his face. It dampened his beard and he could feel the water droplets as they trickled down his bare chest. The water was cold, and he was glad for it. He could feel his arousal fading, and as it faded so did some of his guilt.

He did this a couple more times, and as he rubbed the water into his skin, he regained control over his breathing. But he knew it would be a struggle for sleep to take him once more. His heart was still hammering. And now a thought was gnawing at him: What had possessed him to dream something like that?

What made this dream so different was that he recognized the face of the woman. It was the face of Mary Woodhull.


End file.
